


My Sincerest Apologies

by machérie (MissingInActionSince06)



Category: Euphoria (TV 2019)
Genre: F/M, Forced Fingering, Forced Orgasm, Natebeinganasshole, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Vaginal Fingering, originalfemalecharacterxNateJacobs, selfinsertinifyouwant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:00:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23165887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissingInActionSince06/pseuds/mach%C3%A9rie
Summary: After a snarky comment that you shouldn't have said, Nate makes you apologize. Just not in the way you expected...
Relationships: Nate Jacobs/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 120





	My Sincerest Apologies

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously this is purely fiction and fantasy. I do not support the idea of rape or nonconsensual/forced sex. Reader bewarned now.

Nate Jacobs was the biggest asshole you’d ever had the misfortune of meeting.

  
There was a time, an unfortunate time when you were younger, that you’d had a crush on him. You lived next door to him; growing up, you’d played together, even wrestled together. At the time, you hadn’t thought much of it. You had a crush on that version of him, the lanky, skinny version of him that seemed to always smile a lot before he grew up too quickly, too fast.

  
Then you’d fallen out of touch and one day, you’d seen someone in the hallway, tall, dark, and brooding and you’d ask your friends. And they’d said that was Nate.

  
He’d grown, physically, for sure, but mentally? Not so much.

  
This certain incident proved it.

  
You’d been walking down the hallway in school, binder in hand. Unfortunately, none of your friends had the same class as you, and so you’d been walking alone. Big mistake.

  
You saw the football crowd up ahead, a bunch of jocks with their girlfriends. You nodded at the girls, some of who were your friends, as you walked by. Nate, laughing and talking with someone, seemed to watch you even as you ignored him and kept walking.

  
“Hey Cia!” He shouted. “How’s that slut of a sister doing?”

  
It was just stupid male bravado, you knew. He was trying to prove to his friends...whatever he was trying to prove to them. That he could say anything without any repercussions? That he could get underneath everyone’s skin because that’s just how annoying he was?

  
Probably a combo.

  
It was a stupid idea rising to the bait. But it hit a little too close to home. Your sister's third pregnancy ending in abortion wasn’t exactly a well-kept secret or even a secret at all. In fact, that’s one of the reasons why your parents weren’t home today.

They’d gone with your sister, up to her college. Talk to her counselors, talk about preventive measures, etc.

  
But Nate didn’t know that. He didn’t fucking know anything about you and your family and he had no right to judge-

  
You turned, eyes narrowing, and before you could stop yourself, you were snapping back at him.

  
“I don’t know. You might want to ask your father.”

  
The hallway fell silent. People were looking at him, watching his reaction, but no one dared say anything. Not even one “ooohhhhh.” Uncharacteristic for an American high school.

  
Nate’s eyes narrowed as he stalked closer to you. You weren’t afraid of him. Apprehensive, maybe. But afraid of this asshole? He’s just fronting. He was so consumed being a bully that Nate Jacobs wouldn’t know true fear even if it slapped him upside the head with a brick.

  
Still, you can’t help but feel the slightest bit nervous when he’s so close to you. He’s still the school’s star quarterback and it shows in his tall form and lean build. His dark eyes bore into you.

  
“You’ll pay for that, Cia,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “You will fucking pay for this.”

  
You smirk, already turning away from him. “Cash or credit?”

  
And then you walk away.

  
In hindsight, it was a terrible idea. Despite everything that had happened over the years, despite everything that had changed between you two, you were still neighbors. The fear that he might corner you disappeared as you walked back home, seeing the house next to yours without activity.

  
He must have football practice, you think, unlocking the door to your own house and slipping inside.

  
The house is empty. Just to be sure, you call out your siblings' name, but there’s no reply. Throwing your stuff inside your room, you slip into some comfier clothes. Then, you head to the kitchen and eat a snack while catching up on some Netflix shows. When the doorbell rings again, it’s around four. Time to start your homework.

  
You walk to the door, pulling it open. Probably another delivery, you think, remembering your mom mention to watch out for the delivery guy from UPS.

  
You don’t expect to see Nate standing on your porch, hands in pocket, not even having the audacity to look sheepish. He’s dressed in a red shirt and black pants, his hair wet. In close proximity, you can smell the shampoo on him, a heedy, intoxicating scent that makes you want to smell more. So he hasn’t changed his shampoo at all throughout the years. So what?

  
Even so, you can feel your face grow warm underneath the weight of memories. Of summer and icecream cones, and sitting on the back porch just talking about life. That was a better time. A simpler time.

  
And then he opens his mouth and ruins it.

  
“Hey,” he says.

  
You nod, mouth set in a firm look of disapproval. “If you’re here to apologize, don’t even-”

  
“I’m not here to apologize,” he says. “You are.”

  
“What?”

  
He rolls his eyes, and when he speaks, his tone is bored and condescending. And girls dig this? You ask yourself in disgust. Well, you did, too, once.

  
“For what you said before.”

  
“Forget it. I’m not going to apologize.”

  
“Watch your mouth, sweetheart,” he says. There’s something dangerous in his lidded eyes, and he grins. You wonder if he’s high. “Fine. If you won’t apologize to me-”

  
“Fuck off,” you snap, moving to close the door. You don’t want to hear whatever stupid threat he has laid out for.

  
But he doesn’t let you. He sticks his foot in as a wedge, and as much as you want to smash his foot, so what if he breaks a few bones, you don’t. You’re not that depraved. Yet.

  
Raising your eyebrows, you cross your arms and wait for his stupid half-assed explanation. Instead, his eyes flicker lower to your mouth and in that split second, you know what he’s thinking.

  
You try to shut the door again but the moment is gone. In one fast move, he’s pushing his way into the house. You scream, moving backward but his hands close around your arms. Before you can do anything, your head is being slammed back into the wall. Your vision goes black for a moment and you groan. When you can finally see again, his face is close to yours. Too close.

  
“Nate…” you groan.

  
“Save the begging for later, sweetheart,” he growls. “You’re going to need it.”

  
Your eyes widen in fear as you realize what he means. So this is how he’s going to take his apology. You try to scream but he quickly silences you, his hand going to your throat. He squeezes, in warning and you take the cue and fall silent. He’s much taller than you, and his body is pinning you in your current position.

  
“My parents will be home soon,” you manage to say. He laughs, and then he’s wrapping both hands around your throat, choking you, squeezing you. You struggle to get his hands off your throat, but the desperate scrabbling of your fingers against his hand is futile. When he finally lets you go, gasping and sputtering, he’s smirking again.

  
“Don’t you dare lie to me. Your parents won’t be home until eight. At least. We’ll have plenty of fun before then.”

  
How does he know? “Nate, please,”

  
He ignores you, but steps back and surveys you. Your cheeks flush underneath his heated gaze.

  
“Where’s your bedroom?”

  
“Nate-”

  
“Your fucking bedroom or I swear to God, I will kill you.”

  
You’re shaking and sobbing by this point, crying because it seems like you aren’t going to be able to get out of this. You’re not tiny by any means but you’re still much smaller in comparison to Nate. And the way he’s looking at you, the way his nails bite into your hip briefly as you lead him down the hall to your room and your condemnation, you know he’s going to absolutely rip you apart. Make you fall apart so you’re only held together by the seams of what you were before.

  
He closes and locks the door when you get inside. Briefly, you consider going for the window. But it’s shut and even if you manage to get it open, you won’t be able to get out in time. God knows what punishment Nate might have for you if you tried to do anything like that.

  
“Take off your shirt,” you hear his voice say from behind. “Turn around so I can see it.”

  
Not wanting to, you reluctantly obey. You’re wearing a thin bra, a flimsy white thing, designed more for comfort than for practicality. In the cold air of the room, your nipples are tiny little buds poking out of the fabric.

  
Or at least, you hope it’s because of the temperature.

  
Nate steps closer, and you drop your gaze, trying to focus on anything but him.

  
“Hey,” he says, his voice a low murmur. “Look at me.”

  
You ignore him. If he’s going to do this, you don’t have to enjoy it. You don’t have to play along with it. Just get him out of here, you think, before one of your siblings comes home. Or your parents.

  
“Look at me. Look at me. Fucking look at me, Cia, when I fucking speak to you!” He jerks your chin upright, and you’re staring into his dark eyes. He seems to take a moment to compose himself, before running his hands up your stomach and onto your chest. You can’t help the sick thrill of pleasure that runs through your body, making something in your chest ache as he takes one of your nipples in his finger, rolling it in a way that makes you breathe a little faster. “Fuck, you’ve grown up so much.”

  
“Fuck you," you spit. 

  
“Patience. You will, in a little bit. You know what I want to do to you?” He asks, his tone light as if he’s just discussing the weather or talking about something from class. “I want to make you cum. I want you to want this as badly as I want this.”

  
“Seems you want this pretty badly,” you say, feeling the hardness against the skin of your stomach that is most certainly not his belt. He doesn’t say anything, but there’s a satisfied look in his expression like he was waiting for you to say something to make him angry.

  
Your moment of triumph sinks as his fingers tug at your shorts. You try to stop him, grabbing his thick wrist, but it backfires.

  
“We can’t keep our hands to ourselves, can we?” He chuckles, a deep sound that sounds vaguely sinister. “Well, we’ll have to see what we can do about that. Turn around.”

  
You’re too focused on what he’s said before to even try and disobey. You turn around and feel something sharp and tight encircle your wrists. You hear a loud click. You scowl, trying to move your hands.

  
“Handcuffs, Nate? Really?” You try to bring your hands apart and when that doesn’t work, you open your mouth, trying to scream. Maybe someone will be happening to pass the house at this exact instance. Maybe the mailman will decide to stop by for whatever reason.

  
But Nate puts a stop to it quickly, his fingers going to your jaw. He forces a large, thick finger inside. You gag.

  
“Not a word now,” he says. “Understand?”

  
“Mmm-hmm,” you mumble. He takes his fingers out, and you’re grateful for the slight respite. Then you wonder why you just didn’t try to bite his finger off while he had the chance. Maybe the pain would distract him long enough for you to escape. But your mind is wondering about other things, such as how it might feel like to have his cock jammed into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat and making you choke.

  
You shiver a little, trying to twist around to face him. Nate isn’t having any of that. He holds you in place with one arm. The other is on your stomach, fingers splayed towards your most intimate parts. Your face warms at the thought of him touching you there.

  
“Are you ready, sweetheart?” He asks, his voice surprisingly gentle. You nod. Not that you have any choice or say in this. You’re still turned around, your back pressed against his chest and his hardening cock. He’s not moving to push inside you yet, but you’re still nervous as to what he’s about to do next.  
You find out a moment later when his hand goes inside your panties. You gasp, squirming against him as he finds your clit, rubbing you in the way you like best. You wonder how he knows.

  
“You like that, huh? Tell me how much you like it.”

  
You don’t say anything, but from the way you’re panting hard, shifting your hips back hard to grind against him, you don’t even need to. It surprises you how wet you already are even as his fingers continue to dip in and out of you, never going very far. Just on the verge of actual pain, of the actual stretch of his finger inside of you, he pulls away.

  
When you’re finally close to something, close to completion, he stops. You bite back the whine that threatens to make it out of your throat. He was right about you begging.

  
His fingers trail back up your body, sticky with your own arousal. Your face burns red with shame when he brings it slowly up your neck, and then up to your face, to the edge of your mouth.

  
“Suck it,” he commands.

  
Slowly, you open your mouth. He stuffs his fingers in so hard that your head is tilted back, falling against his shoulder. You gag on his assault, your throat choking up with your own saliva.

  
“Swallow.”

  
You do, and giving one last harsh shove, he removes his fingers.

  
“Lie down on the bed,”

  
“What, you don’t want me to suck your cock?” You ask, surprising yourself with your boldness and harsh tone. It’s the only remains of your shredded pride left.

  
“So you can bite me? I’m a little smarter than that, sweetheart.”

  
You laugh bitterly, because Nate Jacobs is anything but smart, even as he throws you onto your own bed. Your face buried in the mattress, your hands behind you, you’re left completely exposed and vulnerable. You feel the mattress sink and warm fingers skim your back.

  
“I’m going to finger you now,” he says, his voice startlingly clear. Everything else is faded away to background din. The sound of a leaf blower in the distance, close, but not close enough for you to scream out at the person for help. The sound of a barking dog. One of your neighbors, probably. Even the rumble of a car passing by your house, making you tense and think your parents are already home. But it passes, fading out of range again.

  
“Why are you telling me this?” You ask, trying to sound bored. It doesn’t work. The bravado from earlier is already gone, replaced by fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of what he’s going to do next. You’ve always known Nate Jacobs was unstable. Not normal. And now you’re in a room with him, lying face down on your bed with his promise to make you hurt. Make you beg. You’re practically split open for him, begging for him to do whatever the hell he wants to do to you. Gift-wrapped and on a silver platter. “Nate. Please don’t do this. I’m not ready for this. I’ll apologize if that’s what you want. I’m sorry. See? Please just let me go.”

  
“A little late for that. Besides, I’m going to make you ready for this. So ready,” he murmurs. His fingers probe at your wet entrance, and despite yourself, you feel yourself growing warm and wet for him again. He shoves a finger inside suddenly and you cry out, pushing your hips forward to get away from the sudden pain that’s shooting up your body. “See? We’re already making progress here.”

  
He continues working, pushing his finger in and out, and it starts to feel better after a while. You manage to tune it out, almost. His warm hand on the curve of your spine, the way it starts to feel a little good after a while. When a second finger teases you, you gasp, “Nate, please. No more.”

  
“That’s not the kind of attitude to have, sweetheart. We’re just getting started, and besides, if you can’t take this, there’s no way you’ll be able to take my cock.”

  
“Then don’t do this,”

  
“No can do, sweetheart. You should learn how to watch that pretty little mouth of yours. Just be glad that I’m not using that.” The way he says it makes your teeth grind and your hands clench as you imagine what it must feel like to wrap your hands around his throat and choke him. Let him be the one who isn’t in control for once.

  
“My name is Cia.”

  
“Not with me, it isn’t.”

  
Two fingers enter you and you’re helpless to stop. Stretched around his hand, you attempt to move away, but his other hand clamps around your bound hands, keeping you in place. When he switches up the angle, pushing your hips up a little more, it’s like he’s activated a switch inside of you. You shudder, moaning a little as something builds up inside of you.

  
“Nate. Nate. Nate, please, please, please, Oh God, Nate that feels so good, don’t stop, God please…”

  
He speeds up a little and you tighten around his fingers. He inserts a third finger in. This is too much for you. You’re bucking, moaning out his name, your hair matted with sweat even as you feel sticky fluid leaking down your legs. Your end is near.

  
But just when you’re about to climax, he pulls out again and you’re left clenching, looking for his fingers. A muffled grunt escapes your throat, into the mattress. You pray he hasn’t heard.

  
“Not yet,” he says. “I want to make this last.”

  
You don’t say anything, just bury your head in one of the pillows to hide your shame. He could do whatever he wanted to, it’s not like you had to show that you actually liked it.

  
Nate flips you over, and you attempt to kick him. He catches your foot. Grinning lazily, he sits down between your thighs and spreads your legs open, placing them on either side of his body. He starts unzipping his pants.

  
“Nate…” you groan. But it’s a weaker protest than it was before. You can feel yourself growing drowsy, your eyelids starting to shut. So wrong. You’re in a room with Nate, when he’s about to finish you off like a tiger to a piece of meat, and your body is relaxing. No, you think desperately. No, no, no, no, no, this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, fight, come on, do something.

  
It’s happening. And you can’t do anything about it. He unzips his pants, and you flush, looking at it. He’s already hard, but he gives himself a few more good strokes.

  
“Open up, sweetheart,” he says, dragging your body closer to him. You squirm but it’s useless. Your body has long since given up.

  
You feel his cock against your own dampness center. He pushes in suddenly.

  
“Nate!” He wasn’t lying about being big. You feel like something inside of you has split open. There’s burning pain, but as he moves out, and then back in, it starts to decrease. For a few moments, you don’t say anything. Just close your eyes and try to get more comfortable. Then he drags your hips closer to him, and he’s so far inside of you that you can no longer dislodge him easily.

  
You whine, trying to kick him off. He easily moves your legs, holding them by the ankle with his own large hands. Now you have no control at all. His body is poised over yours, pressing down onto you in a way that makes it hard to breathe.

  
“I’ve waited for this so long,” he says, his mouth near your ear. You don’t say anything. “God, you feel so fucking good. So you’re a virgin, huh?”

  
“Um-hmm.”

  
“You don’t fuck like a virgin.” Nate gives a hard thrust and you gasp, your mouth opening in a surprised ‘o’. He takes that moment to fit his mouth over yours, kissing you deeply. You wrap your legs around his waist, the most comfortable position for you right now. Besides, maybe he’ll be a little gentler if he thinks you’re going along with it. He pulls away, and the speed of his thrusts increase.

  
“Nate, it hurts.”

  
“I don’t fucking care. I want you this way.”

  
Tears prick your eyes and roll down your cheeks.

_Why couldn’t I have just kept my mouth shut?_

  
“It’ll feel good in a bit, baby,” he murmurs, running a hand down your face to wipe away the tears. You shut your eyes and realize that he’s right. It is starting to feel a little better now. “Shh. It’s alright. You’re fine.”

  
“Oh God, Nate,” the earlier feeling is coming back to you. He smiles at you as you throw your head back, your legs tightening around his waist. “God, that feels-Nate, Nate, please, for the love of God, please…”  
“You want me to go faster?”

  
“Yes, please. Oh my-Nate, fuck,” the words coming out of your mouth barely made sense to you. But you didn’t care. His teasing from earlier, bringing you on the brink of orgasm and then leaving you to hang, is making you want this. The only thing you care about at that moment is how good this feels. This time, he doesn’t stop, just keeps going and then you feel yourself arching your back, getting your release. Your legs tighten around him as you scream out his name, along with a slew of curses. For once, they’re not directed at him.

  
When you’re finished, you feel his mouth on your breasts. Panting, you come back to your senses. The realization that this sociopath, Nate Jacobs, just made you cum, nearly makes you sob. But you can’t bring it in yourself to hate him. Not yet. Maybe it’s the release of chemicals in your brain, but you’re no longer trying to kick him off or even actively struggle. You just lay there, taking what he has to give to you. His grunts fill the room, interspaced with the occasional curse or your name.

  
When the speed of his thrusts become harsher and sloppier, you realize he’s about to climax.

  
“Nate, pull out, please,” your own voice is calm. Too calm for this situation you find yourself in. But you’ve resigned yourself to it. “Nate. I can’t get pregnant.”

  
“Too fucking bad.”

  
“Nate-”

  
“Shut the fuck up.” His hand moves in between your legs again, flicking at your oversensitive clit. You arch your back, your mouth moving as if you want to say something, but no words come out. “That’s better. I like it when you don’t say anything but my name.”  
He finally climaxes, and you feel the hot liquid spill into you at around the same time your second orgasm hits you. You push your hips against his as he takes one of your breasts in his palm. You shudder, and he stays like that for a few moments before pulling out.

  
You’re panting deeply, trying to recover. You see through half-lidded eyes that he’s not moving to pull his shirt on, and you flush. Definitely the chemicals’ influence, because rationally, on a good day without all this dopamine in your system, you wouldn’t be having these traitorous thoughts. Of how good he looks. Of how you want him to snuggle with you, his chest pressed against your back. But he isn’t the snuggling type. He’s the type to take and not give.

  
But it’s so tempting to think otherwise.


End file.
